


wake me up (when i don't bleed anymore)

by bratwonders



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parenting, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Bad Parent, Child Abuse, Damian Wayne Feels, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne’s Parent, Gen, Good Brother Dick Grayson, Hurt Damian Wayne, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Whump, alfred is a protective grandpapa, but then its mostly recovery, its just briefly mentioned, its pretty whumpy in the beginning, no one is actually an alcoholic, things get better I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratwonders/pseuds/bratwonders
Summary: Bruce did something he shouldn’t have, over and over again.Dick can’t believe he didn’t realize it before. Hates himself, for not seeing past Bruce’s lies.Of course those bruises on Damian weren’t from patrol.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Damian Wayne & Everyone, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Comments: 93
Kudos: 977





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: this chapter goes into a lot of detail on Bruce's abuse of Damian. If this is in any way triggering, please click off this one. It's not my intention to cause harm to anybody in real life.

It’s no later than one week into living with his father that it starts.

It’s a fight. As Damian will learn, it starts with a fight, it always does, up until it doesn’t. Verbal digs meant to puncture the surface of the skin, to earn an eye roll or a disappointed shake of the head, no deeper. He doesn’t really remember what the fight was about. He never really seems to. It was their third night of patrol together, and things had been going smoothly. Grayson had already taught him the Unbreakable Rule, taught him self restraint, taught him _love_ , just a little bit. So Damian practiced with Bruce.

But at every point where Dick surely would’ve commended him, every time he did something he thought his father would be proud of, would at least crack a smile at, he was ignored. When Damian completed a move Dick taught him, one that Dick had learned from Bruce, he was sure Bruce would see it. He was sure he’d be asked about it. He did it perfectly, only slipping a bit at the end from the icy streets. He quickly looked back at Bruce to see his reaction, but he had already moved on. It’s like he didn’t even see it.

He’s in a sour mood when they came back. That’s why the fight started. He was just waiting to stir up some trouble. Damian said something (he forgot what, exactly) to piss Bruce off on purpose. Bruce turned around and bit back a reply, to which Damian responded back rudely, et cetera, et cetera. Damian thought that their little spat would be the end of it, Bruce would send Damian to the showers, they’d sleep their anger off and have breakfast together the next morning, as if nothing had happened.

But when Damian got up in Bruce’s face, up on his very tippy toes, and even then still having to tilt his head back to look at his eyes, Bruce growled. It was a visceral noise that rumbled the floors, nearly made Damian lose his balance.

That was the first hit. Granted, it was only a slap.

( _Only_ , as if _any_ kind of abuse was normal.)

(To Damian, it was.)

It barely hurt, but the shock knocked him off his feet, sent him sprawling to the ground, had him seeing stars. His face immediately reddened as he tumbled over like a stack of cards. His grandfather would laugh at such a pathetic display.

Bruce never really _hit_ him. They practiced, they sparred once or twice, but Bruce never hurt him just to hurt him. Never hurt him to _punish_. 

Why now?

His face steeled again as he looked back up at his father, his cheek starting to swell. Of course. Of course his father wouldn’t be _kind._ He was the _Batman,_ he was everything Gotham _feared._

His cheek was starting to swell, his father’s glare hard enough to cut diamond.

“Don’t speak to me that way.” He spat. “Get changed, you’re going to bed.”

Damian bit back a snarky reply. He stood up, brushed the dust off his suit and did what he was told. It was what he had to do, it was what was ingrained into him. Failure to comply just meant more punishment.

He ignored the crushing disappointment in his heart. Because he thought… maybe this time, with his father, it would be _different._

But it wasn’t. Damian was wrong.

When Alfred visited him that night to put ice to the wound, Damian told him a thug had gotten the upper hand on him. Alfred gave him a warm smile and nodded.

_“It happens to the best of us, Master Damian.”_ He had said. Damian just nodded along.

  
  
  
  


The next time, Damian doesn’t really count as a beating, though it most certainly was. It’s during training.

It’s a few days later, and Bruce had yet to lay a hand on him again. Damian had dared himself to think, perhaps it was just a fluke. An off night, or perhaps he’d been _under the influence_ . He’d (rather shamefully) done some research after that, because Grayson told him what the League did definitely was _not_ normal. Apperantly, a large reason for what the internet called _child abuse,_ was that the guardian was under the influence of alcohol or other drugs. Though Damian had not seen him drinking, he thought, perhaps that was the reason of this erratic behavior. There were certainly plenty enough wine bottles in the cellar for a man even Bruce’s size to become tipsy. So, maybe that was it.

Even still, since it had happened, there had been not one apology. Even his _grandfather_ had the gall to apologize sometimes after an intensely harsh punishment.

That was alright. Damian hadn’t expected one from him. His pride might have prevented a proper apology -- and that was okay.

They fell into an easy rhythm once they start the training session. Damian is small and quick enough to escape most of his father’s attacks, and in turn, his father is skilled enough to dodge each of Damian’s attacks. It’s simple, and it works. No one is getting hurt.

Not yet, anyway.

Damian went in for in attack, a kick to the stomach, and Bruce grabbed his ankle and knocked him off balance, sending him to the ground. Damian went to stand up, recovering quickly as he was taught, but suddenly, his father’s hand was on the small of his back, keeping him pinned to the ground. Damian grunted and squirmed a bit under him, trying to get loose so they could continue their sparring, but Bruce was nearly crushing him against the ground.

“Father, st--” he gasped as Bruce held him down, the floor pressing on his ribs and restricting his breathing. His father shifted on top of him, so his knee was now pinning him down, his hand fisted in his hair, pulling on it harshly. Damian held back a grunt and, not wanting to admit failure, tried to pull his head away. Bruce pulled back Damian’s hair and lifted his head upwards, and in one swift movement, slammed his head onto the ground.

He could tell immediately his nose was broken. Smashed to bits in the floor. He couldn’t stop the small yelp that escaped him as he tried to push himself away. But Bruce didn’t _stop._ He pulled his head up again by his hair and slammed him down _again,_ and he still didn’t stop, he did it twice more, until Damian’s face was almost completely mangled. He couldn’t see anything but red, the blood flooding his eyes and drowning out his tears. His forehead hurt, his nose was absolutely _ruined_ and he was sure he had cracked a few teeth, if the blood nearly choking him was any indication. Bruce was breathing heavily when he finally let go of the boy, letting Damian fall onto the floor, blood seeping out of his wounds as he coughed up some blood.

Then his father’s hand was between his shoulders again, pushing him down, and Damian prepared himself for another hit. But then Bruce’s breath was in his ear, hot and tickling his skin and making the hairs rise up on his neck. The man started to whisper.

“This session is over. You failed.”

Damian felt goosebumps on his arm, biting his lip so he wouldn’t feel the need to say anything he shouldn’t. He had failed. In the league, failure meant more punishment. Is that what his father was going to do?

He simply nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground beneath him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Get changed.” He said sternly, louder than before. “You’re benched for tonight.”

He felt tears welling up in his eyes. Right. _Right._ He had failed. He had not proven his strength. In his father’s eyes, he was weak.

And _weak children_ couldn’t be Robin.

He went to the showers and cleaned the blood off his face. He reset his nose and stopped the bleeding. That was all he could do.

That’s all a _failure_ like him could do.

When Todd makes fun of him a few days later for his ‘messed up’ nose, Damian doesn’t say a thing.

Neither does Bruce.

  
  
  
  


The third time didn’t have to do with Robin at all.

It’s when Damian realized this wasn’t just a _bad mood_ . It’s when he realized this wasn’t going to _stop_.

He was at the dinner table with Bruce. Usually Tim would be with them, but he was away with his little Teen Titans team. It was Damian and Bruce alone, and he hated the way it made it stomach churn. He was supposed to feel _safe_ with his father this time. Grayson promised things would be better than with the League.

Somehow, it felt like things were worse. In the League, rules were well defined, all he had to do was _not break them_ . In Wayne Manor, everything was different. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong or _why_ it was wrong and _no one_ ever told him. Not with Bruce.

He just had to _try_ to do it right. But he would always, _always_ fail.

That time, it was because he had mouthed off. Alfred went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, so the two were alone, sitting across from each other.

And Bruce hadn’t started it. This time, it was all Damian.

“How was your day, son?” Bruce asked, mild-mannered. Damian had honestly forgotten how _smooth_ and level-headed his father really was. He only lost his temper because _Damian deserved it._

He knew that now.

“Fine.” He answered rather meekly. He didn’t dare let any type of fear show in his voice. He would _not_ be afraid of his own father.

“Good.” He grunted, looking down at his food.

Damian bit the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Do you even care?”

Bruce’s head snapped up and _god_ Damian never regretted anything _faster._

“What did you say?”

Damian looked down. “Nothing, sir.” _Nothing. Ignore me, please. Don’t--_

He gasped sharply as Bruce grabbed his collar, pulling him up, Damian struggled half-heartedly, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to escape.

“Father--”

_“What did you say?”_

Damian gulped. He looked at his father’s eyes, and there was absolutely no love to be found.

_Idiot. It’s your fault for setting him off._

“I just -- I don’t understand why you care about my day when you do things like _this--”_

And it was the truth. If his father didn’t care about his safety, he surely wouldn’t care about his _day._ Richard had told him, after telling him about the treatment under the League’s care, that _if they hurt you, it’s not love. It’s not real love._

It conflicted Damian. Because Dick _raved_ about Bruce, how _kind and caring_ he was, how much he would _love_ Damian.

(If Dick saw what was happening, Damian wondered, would he call it love?)

Bruce growled and grabbed the candlestick from the side of the table and set it down in front of Damian. Damian looked up at him in confusion and apprehensiveness, swallowing thickly.

“Give me your hand.” Bruce demanded, no room for argument. Damian hesitantly listened, knowing the punishment would only get worse if he refused. Bruce grabbed his wrist harshly and held his palm over the flame.

Damian grit his teeth when he realized what was happening. “Father, wai--”

Bruce backhanded him with his free hand without a second thought. Damian grunted and clamped his mouth shut. His hand was starting to hurt, starting to _burn._ He quietly tried to release his hand from his father’s deathly grip, but he wouldn’t let him, he held his hand over the flame and watched it burn, the skin glowing bright red.

Even when tears started rolling down his cheeks and he quietly pleaded with his father to stop, he wouldn’t. It was like he hadn’t even heard him.

Eventually, when Damian’s grunts turned to sobs, Bruce pushed his son’s hand away and sent him up to his room without dinner.

When Tim pointed out the burn on his hand when he came back, Damian told him he mistakenly put his hand on the stove. Tim laughed at him, and Damian said nothing.

  
  
  
  


The fourth time, Pennyworth sees it.

It’s not pretty.

Damian and Bruce were in a heated argument, and Damian wouldn’t let up. He knew he was playing with fire, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t flinch every time Bruce curled his fist. But he thought — foolishly, in his part — that perhaps his father was going to finally stop this. If he could just _convince_ him. The noise of both of them shouting shook the walls, he wasn’t surprised that Alfred must have heard it.

“You don’t even care!” Damian had cried, stomping his foot in anger. “You don’t care about me!” And, god, he knew he sounded so _childish_ , practically _begging_ his father to care about him the way fathers should, the way Grayson _did_.

He didn’t know why he thought, maybe, _just this once,_ Bruce would understand him.

But he didn’t. Damian cried in pain as his father’s hands wrapped around his neck and pinned him to the wall. Bruce’s face was tomato red and he just kept shouting, “You can’t speak to me that way! _You can’t speak to me that way!_ ”

Damian kicked his legs in a fruitless attempt to escape, his own hands, so small compared to his father’s, trying to claw him off. He choked on his words and thrashed in his grip, the only sound coming out of his mouth being small whimpers.

And Damian couldn’t see it, but he heard it. The door _flew open._

_“Master Bruce!”_

Damian actually felt a chill go down his spine. Alfred had never sounded truly _angry_ before. The butler was so calm, his anger showed through sarcastic comments and disappointed facial expressions. He didn’t _scream._ He didn’t _fight_.

Not until now.

Alfred’s hands were on Bruce, ripping him away from his son. Damian fell to the floor with a gasp, coughing into his hand and squeezing his eyes shut. At this point, he was just grateful Bruce had let go.

“What are you doing?! He’s your _son!”_ Alfred shouted, _shouted_ like he never had before, hands curling in Bruce’s sweater as he shook him. Damian was _terrified_ and he just wanted it all to stop. He picked himself up off the floor and looked up at the two for a brief moment. Bruce was yelling back at Alfred, but had yet to raise a hand against him, because -- because why? Why Damian, and not Alfred?

He didn’t have time to dwell. He ran out of the room despite Bruce’s protests and made a break for his room. He slammed the door shut and locked himself inside, tears forming in his eyes before he knew it as the sounds of the fight raged on. Damian hid his face in his pillow, his lip quivering, his fingers trembling. He wanted it all to stop.

Hours later, Alfred came back to Damian’s room. He pulled the boy into a hug, and Damian didn’t fight it. He asked if Bruce has ever done anything like this.

Damian said no.

  
  
  
  


Bruce gets more careful after that. He only does it when no one else is home. He makes sure to be as quiet as possible. He keeps Damian silent.

The fifth time, it’s not Damian’s fault. Some could argue it never _was --_ but this time, Damian hadn’t done _anything._

He was in his room, drawing in his sketchbook. Alfred was out grocery shopping, but gave Damian strict rules to call him if anything happened. Damian nodded along, the directions going in one ear and out the other.

Thankfully, Bruce seemed to be in a good mood. He was downstairs in his office working on his trivial Wayne Enterprises business, and had left Damian alone for the better part of the day. Damian thought -- rather foolishly -- that today would be peaceful.

Damian had just finished drawing Grayson’s nose on his side profile when the door flew open, his father barging inside. Damian’s head snapped up, and -- holy _shit,_ he looked absolutely visceral. His eyes were bloodshot, he was practically drooling. His teeth were shown off hideously, his breathing heavy.

“You little _fucker._ ” The man growled, voice deep and rumbly, nearly his Batman voice. Damian threw his sketchbook aside and backed up, looking up at his nervously.

“Fa--” Bruce grabbed his collar and slammed his head into the edge of his nightstand. Damian screamed in pain and he was sure a part of his skull had shattered. He didn’t even have the energy to fight back as Bruce threw him to the ground like a ragdoll and stepped on his neck.

Damian wanted to ask _why, why was he doing this, what had he done wrong,_ but he knew he’d be given no answer. He let Bruce manhandle him, bruise him, make him bleed. He closed his eyes and let it happen.

When Alfred came back and started fixing him, Damian told him he’d fallen down the stairs. He could see the doubt in Alfred’s eyes, the disappointment. Alfred wasn’t so easily fooled.

  
  
  
  


He stopped keeping count after that. There wasn’t much of a point. Bruce would keep hurting, and Damian would keep lying.

_I lost my footing on patrol. They got the upper hand. I was caught by surprise. Don’t worry, it was my fault. I messed up. Don’t worry, stop worrying._

Todd and Drake seemed to take it without suspicion. Damian assumed it was because they didn’t _care_ enough to worry. Even if they thought something was wrong, they couldn’t be bothered to figure it out.

Dick would keep asking more questions, to which Damian would answer vaguely or not at all. Alfred would try and stay near Damian as much as possible, would barely let Bruce get _near_ him if he could help it.

It didn’t help Damian much. It just meant when Alfred was away, the punishments would get even worse. They fell into a pattern for months on end, and Damian kept lying, each false word feeling like ash on his tongue. But it was worth it to get the others to stop prodding. Even when Dick’s smile started to fall, even when Tim’s eyes lingered on him just a _little_ too long, even when Jason cursed under his breath with each new bruise and injury.

The days dragged on, and so did everyone else.

Damian kept moving.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG AND ITS STILL BAD

_ “F-father—” Damian huffed, his teeth chattering. “Why are we out here?” _

_ “You’ll see.” _

_ It was freezing. Below freezing, actually. Damian had checked. He was in his Robin uniform, but the material wasn’t nearly enough to protect him from the biting cold. He couldn’t see three feet in front of him; the howling winds and flurrying snow were too much. His shoes were soaked in ice water, and the rest of his body wasn’t doing much better. He couldn’t feel his feet or his fingers. His lips had turned blue. _

_ “Father…” he whispered desperately after a few more minutes of walking. He stared at the frozen tundra in front of his feet. “I want to go home.” _

_ “If you give up now, you can say goodbye to Robin. Forever.” _

_ He winced and nodded, raising a hand up over his eyes. He blinked away his tears before they froze on his face. _

_ Minutes passed. Damian’s vision was starting to blur. Every part of him ached. He felt the frostbite on his arms and legs, the hypothermia setting in. _

_ This was it. Damian was going to die here. Bruce took him out here to finally finish him off. _

_ He took a step down, and suddenly he was falling. His mind was too dizzy to process it. There was a sharp pain in his leg, then nothing. _

  
  
  
  


Dick was starting to worry.

Damian seemed to be getting more and more reckless on patrol. While with Dick as Robin, he barely ever got seriously injured. It was to be expected -- Damian was a trained assassin, he was prepared for anything. Now, he was walking around the house with a limp, he cradled his arm too close to his chest, he  _ winced  _ whenever Dick tried to hug him. Not because of how much he despised hugs, but out of genuine  _ pain.  _ (Believe him -- he knew the difference.) And then Dick would ask,  _ what happened?  _ And Damian would reply,  _ I hurt myself on patrol. I wasn’t paying attention. _

The lie was flimsy at best. Damian was more skilled than most trained adults, and going against a bunch of  _ untrained  _ bumbling thieves shouldn’t be a problem for him. At least, not  _ this much  _ of a problem.

It was happening almost every day now.

It wasn’t  _ like  _ Damian to be so careless. And the more he thought about it, the more possibilities,  _ awful, terrible possibilities,  _ he thought of. It made his chest tighten to think of why Damian would be getting so injured.

Whatever it was, Dick wasn’t going to find out by sitting on his ass and thinking. Maybe he wasn’t as skilled a detective as his father or his brother, but even he knew the only way to find out this  _ mystery  _ was for it to come from the source.

He arrived at the manor at around noon, empty handed except for his phone and laptop. The manor already had everything he needed. 

He wasn’t too shocked that Damian didn’t meet him at the door. He had texted him and told him he’d be coming over, but he never said when. Dick smiled as he thought about how he would open the door to his room and surprise him, make him smile his own special  _ Damian-y _ smile.

When he stepped inside the manor, Alfred was waiting for him with a smile, but there was something very  _ wrong  _ with it. It was pinched, his face was a shade paler than usual, his body was tense. Dick’s smile faded quickly and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Alfie?”

“Master Dick,” Alfred greeted as if nothing was wrong, though his face said anything but, “it’s nice to see you.”

“Is something wrong?” He asked quickly. And, yes, he knew it was rude to not greet him back, but the worry was taking over the logic in his head. “You look… off.”

Alfred’s faux-happy demeanor was stripped away quickly. He avoided eye contact with Dick for a moment. He looked like he was thinking of whether or not to say something. It seemed on the tip of his tongue.

“No no. Nothing wrong.” He eventually responded, meeting his eyes again. “Why don’t you go up and say hello to Damian?” He smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.”

Dick bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from protesting. Alfred definitely knew something. And Dick found it weird how  _ sure _ he was of that -- Alfred was better at keeping secrets than anyone, even Bruce. The fact that Dick  _ knew  _ Alfred was lying, as if Alfred was  _ trying  _ to make it obvious without saying it outright.

He decided not to press yet. Maybe this was all just in his head. He’d go upstairs and Damian would be his normal grouchy self, and all his worries would wash away.

He took the stairs twice at a time, his smile getting a little brighter. He just needed to see the kid, painting or listening to music, and everything would be okay. Dick hoped Damian would smirk and call him an idiot for even assuming something  _ so stupid,  _ and Dick would laugh, agree, and they’d be okay again.

“Hey Dami--” He started, but the words caught in his throat as soon as he opened the door. Damian was fast asleep, face buried in his pillow, limbs spread around across the bed under the covers.

Dick frowned in confusion. It was noon. Why was Damian asleep? It wasn’t  _ like  _ Damian to sleep in the middle of the day. Damian didn’t even like sleeping at  _ night.  _ It was a waste of time according to him.

He looked around the room and saw some crutches on the floor next to his bed. Damian’s leg was in a cast and his foot was elevated on a pillow.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and closed the door softly, not wanting to disturb him.

_ Not good. Definitely not good. _

Worry fluttered in his stomach and he had to take a few steps back to regain his balance. Why was no one telling him anything? 

He spun around to go downstairs. This was all too overwhelming. He needed to know the truth,  _ now. _

When he got downstairs, Alfred had disappeared. He quickly checked the window and saw him in the garden at the front, protected by a wired cage. It was time for answers, he decided. There was no way he was letting this go any further.

He took a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart and swallowed, going out to the garden. 

“Hey Alfie,” he hummed as he stepped into the garden, the wire door falling back into place with a loud clang, “need any help?”

Alfred looked up at him, wiping some sweat from his brows. Worry and confusion tinged his features as his eyes landed back on Dick.

“Master Dick, where is Damian?” He asked quickly, scanning the area around them with wide eyes. He almost looked crazed, eyes frantically moving around the garden.

And, god, it unsettled him. Dick normally would’ve laughed at Alfred’s uncharacteristic informality, but there was a deep pit in his stomach. Something was wrong with Damian, very wrong, Alfred  _ knew _ what it was, yet wouldn’t tell him.  _ Why?  _ What was there to hide?

_ Where the hell is Bruce? _

“He’s in his room. Sleeping.” His words came out with hesitation, because he wasn’t sure if that was the right answer anymore. But Alfred seemed to visibly relax, letting out a soft breath through his nose and looking back down at his flowers.

“Alright.”

“Why?” Dick blurted out, taking a step forward. “Is he okay?”

Alfred’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. He looked towards the manor, as if he were afraid Damian could hear them. He looked back down at his flowers, and the pause he took to answer stretched so long, Dick was wondering if he was even going to answer.

“No, I…” he stopped, processing his own words. “I’m afraid he’s not.”

Dick’s teeth clenched. 

So he was right.

He wanted that answer, for him to admit that  _ something  _ was off, but now that it was out there, he just wished he hadn’t said anything. He just wanted this to all be a crazy coincidence.

Dick sat next to him, not taking his eyes off of his face. 

“Alfred?” He said tentatively, quietly.

“Master Dick…” the older man started, but pressed his lips into a thin line. His face had turned pallid, his eyes shifting around nervously, as if he was afraid of someone watching.

Dick furrowed his eyebrows at the unnatural behavior. It wasn’t like Alfred to be antsy, fidgety. “Alfie?”

“Master Bruce has…”

He stopped again, biting his lower lip.

Dick tried to encourage him, tilting his head. “Bruce has…?”

“He’s been quite…  _ harsh, _ lately, and I‘m afraid...”

Afraid? Alfred was afraid of Bruce? That was new. That was  _ bad. _

“Harsh? To who?”

Batman was usually harsh to his enemies. Had it gotten worse? Had Bruce…

“Did he…?”

Alfred shook his head, having caught onto Dick’s train of thought. “No, no killing. But… I… I believe he’s doing something  _ worse…” _

Dick’s face paled. Worse than killing? What could possibly…?

“Master Dick, I-- I fear for Master Damian’s safety.”

Dick froze in his place.  _ Damian’s safety? What’s wrong with Damian? Why Damian’s… _

“The bruises, the injuries,” Alfred continued unprompted, his voice hushed to a whisper. “I’m afraid they aren’t from patrol at all.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> word gets around.

At first, he’s confused. There were loud noises outside, the yellow beams of sun replaced with flashes of red and blue. He groaned and twisted in his bed, hoping it would go away. All he cares about right now is that it’s warm in this bed, so warm, and nothing hurts right now.

He pried his eyes open, swallowing down his worry when he saw Alfred the cat next to him. He relaxed a bit when he saw his stomach rise and fall. He reached out and scratched his head, smiling a bit. He pushed himself out of bed and limped to the window to see what was happening.

His eyes widened when he saw the police cars outside. Gordon was talking to Grayson and Alfred as the others started entering the house. He squinted down at the three in his focus, reading their lips.

_“Are you sure about this?“_ Jim.

_“I’m afraid it’s true. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”_ Alfred.

Damian started getting nervous, wringing his hands. What were they talking about…?

_You’re sure Bruce… hit him? Physically?_ Jim…

And that was it. Something inside of Damian had his feet moving before his mind even told him too. He reached into his closet and grabbed whatever he could find, shoving it into a bag. He needed to get out, _now._

They knew. Dick, Jim, probably the entire fucking GCPD. His worst nightmare had come true.

If there was one thing worse than being hit by his father, it was having people find out about it. To find out he couldn’t even protect himself in his own home. That he was such a… terrible child, he needed to be _punished_ to learn how to behave.

It was no secret to anyone that Damian prided himself on being strong, but for others to find out he was being attacked at home by his own father, because of his _own_ misdoings…

If everyone knew that… he might just break.

He grabbed his bag and whistled. “Titus! We’re leaving!” He called, carefully gathering Alfred into his arms. He couldn’t leave either of them behind. Not with Bruce…

Titus sat up from the bed with a confused whine, stretching out his paws. He quickly jumped up and joined Damian, sniffing his neck and head. The boy limped to the door, having to lean against Titus to stay upright. He needed to get out of here. He needed—

“Damian!”

His eyes widened. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Dick, Dick _running_ to catch up with him. He picked up the pace, but with his injured leg and weight holding him down, he knew it was impossible to outrun him.

Dick caught up quickly — just as Damian had thought — and grabbed his shoulder. Damian hissed as the hand put pressure on one of his fresh bruises.

“Dami,” Dick called softly, so sweetly, and Damian _hated_ it, “I’m here. It’s okay.” Damian shut his eyes to stop himself from crying.

“How did you find out?” No use denying it by now…

“Alfred told me. He said… he said it’s been happening for a while.” His voice got quieter, delicate. “Is Bruce in the house right now?”

Damian bit his lip. “I don’t know.” Bruce was going to absolutely _kill_ him for this.

Dick swallowed and nodded. “Okay. We’re going to fix this, okay?” He pulled Damian into a hug. 

Damian winced. This was all wrong, completely wrong. He pulled away and glared up at him. “I don’t need fixing.”

Dick frowned deeply. “Hey,” his tone was stronger, but still soft. “Don’t push me away right now—”

“I don’t need you!” He shouted, attempting to limp back to his room.

Dick frowned sadly, and just— just completely _ignored_ him. He pulled Damian into his chest, being careful of hurting Alfred. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He growled. “Because I _knew_ this would happen! This is— you shouldn’t have said anything! I would have handled it!”

“You absolutely would not have—” He raised his arm to grab Damian’s shoulders, but Damian flinched and pushed him away, one hand still desperately clutched onto Alfred the cat.

“You don’t understand!” Damian screamed. “Tell Gordon you were lying. Tell all of them it was a stupid joke!” He pleaded.

Dick’s face softened a bit. “Dami, I know you’re hurting…” as if he was a fucking _therapist_ or something, “but we really are here to help...”

A sudden commotion from outside caught both of their attention. Damian pulled away from Dick and ran outside as fast as he could with his injured leg. Dick followed close behind, purposely letting Damian stay in front. Damian’s heart nearly stopped when he realized what was happening.

It was his father— it was Bruce. Being arrested. Restrained by two other cops as they handcuffed him.

“What’s going on?! I didn’t do anything! Jim, what’s going on?!” He sounded genuinely… confused, worried. It made Damian’s stomach turn.

Jim frowned, his face hard as steel. “I think you know what you did.” He nodded over to Damian.

_No, Gordon, you idiot!_

When Bruce looked at Damian, it was like a switch flipped. All emotion drained from out of him slowly, staring at Damian with stone cold eyes. No love, no regret… not even anger.

Just nothing.

Damian swallowed and looked away, not even strong enough to look at him right now.

A hand was suddenly placed on his back, making him jump. “Master Damian… I’m sorry, I had to tell them.”

Damian pulled away and growled. “No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did… Damian, he wasn’t going to stop—”

“And you thought I couldn’t handle it?!” He glared at Alfred.

“Of course you could handle it… but you don’t deserve it.”

Damian frowned. For a moment, he couldn’t even form a response. “That’s not the point.”

Dick met up with the two and held Damian’s shoulder. Why was everyone _touching him?_ “We’re gonna go to my house for a while, okay? I don’t think you should stay here in the manor.”

Damian’s heart picked up. This… this was all happening way too fast. How long had it even been? His head was spinning. “No! This is my home! That’s not fair!”

“Damian, Bruce—”

“Enough about my father! He’s a good man! You don’t know _anything!”_

Dick frowned deeply, face tinged in concern. “I know that he hit you. That’s all I _need_ to know.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Damian thought of what to say. He knew Dick was wrong, but he couldn’t find any arguments… he didn’t know what to say…

Dick sighed shakily. “God… I can’t believe this is happening.”

And suddenly, Damian found his voice again. “What do you mean? This is _your_ fault!”

_And mine._

Dick huffed. “Damian, you might not realize it, but this is going to help you. We’re doing this to help y—”

“That’s what my mother said! That’s what Father was doing! Yet you say it was wrong! How can I trust you, or Gordon or Pennyworth or _anyone?!?”_

Dick’s eyes widened and he stopped. “Dami…”

The boy growled. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like you care. You never even _noticed!”_

“Yes I did! I did notice! I just never thought Bruce would be capable of—”

Damian groaned and spun around quickly, holding Alfred close to him.

“Damian, don’t walk away from me!” Dick cried out.

Damian glared at him. “You ruined my life!”

“Bruce ruined your life! We were trying to help!”

“My father did what he had to do so I could behave!” He screamed, his voice cracking. God, he was on the edge…

This was all too much. Damian’s heart was racing. He wanted to go back to yesterday… he wanted this all to be a bad dream. Everyone was pushing him, _touching_ him, telling him what to think… Damian hated it all. He hated Grayson, he hated Gordon and Pennyworth… he hated them more than he hated his father. He hated them all so much.

Dick’s face flashed with hurt. As if Damian had _hurt him._ Dick didn’t even know the _definition_ of hurt. “You think this is your fault…” it wasn’t a question.

Damian narrowed his eyebrows. He needed Dick to _know._ To _know_ how _hated_ he was. “No. It’s yours.”

And, fuck… it was like you could _hear_ Dick’s heart break.

There was a short-lived silence between the three before Jim arrived. “Okay, Damian, we’re gonna go down to the precinct and ask a few questions. Is that okay?”

No, no, it wasn’t okay. But there was no stopping this… “Whatever.”

Dick cleared his throat and looked at the Manor. “I’m gonna… go… inside.” He muttered before walking away.

Damian looked away. He knew he had messed up… but he couldn’t find it in him to care right now.

Gordon nodded and tilted his head towards Damian. “Is that your cat?”

Damian frowned. “Yes.”

“Is it sick?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We’ll take it to—”

“No!” Damian screeched. “You already took my father from me! My cat is _off limits.”_

Gordon backed up a bit. “Okay, son, I won’t touch it—”

_“Him._ You will not touch _him.”_

Jim nodded slowly. “Okay… will you come with me to the car?”

Damian didn’t reply. He did _not_ want to leave the Manor. He didn’t want to see his father in a jail cell. He didn’t want to talk to a police officer or leave his pets or answer any questions…

Because then it would all become real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick talks to a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the delay. Updates should be coming more regularly now :}
> 
> I've also started going back and fixing previous chapters, so be on the look out for that!

It took some time, but eventually, Damian agreed to go down and answer Jim’s questions, on the condition he could bring Alfred (the cat  _ and _ the human) and Titus. 

That left Dick completely alone in the manor. 

Those stupid words couldn’t get out of his head. Damian was right, as always… this was Dick’s fault. Dick’s fault for not noticing, for not saying anything… this was on him. How could he have not noticed? He was Damian's brother. He was supposed to protect him, he  _ promised  _ he would protect him. And he  _ completely failed. _

And Damian… god, Dick could see it in his eyes, Damian was ruined. 

That thought alone spurred him into action. He grabbed his phone and called Jason. The phone rang for an agonizingly long time before…

_ “Jason Todd. Leave a message.” _

_ Beep. _

Dick growled in frustration. “You piece of shit… Jay, get over here. It’s an emergency. A really fucking big one.” His hands were shaking as his grip tightened on the phone.

He tried Tim next, who actually answered.

“Hey, Dick--”

He wasted no time. “Tim, get over here,  _ now.” _

There was a small gap of silence, the younger Bat fumbling over his words. “W- huh- What? Why? Where is ‘here’?”

“Wayne Manor.” He huffed and paused. “It’s an emergency. Bruce was arrested--”

“What?! Dick -- why?!”

He sighed shakily. This was a lot to handle at one time, he understood that. But his mind was racing too fast -- he didn’t have time to explain right now, he just needed someone  _ here,  _ here with him. Being alone right now was a nightmare. “I’ll explain when you get here.”

“I--” Tim scoffed in disbelief. “Dick, I’m not even inside the country right now!”

Dick squeezed his eyes shut. Fucking  _ great. _ “When’s the earliest you can get here?”

“I-I don’t know, tomorrow morning?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. Fuck. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

“Dick…” Tim’s voice was uneasy, “what’s going on?”

He was quiet for a moment. “Things aren’t okay, Timmy. I really fucked up.”

“...Okay.” He said quietly, somberly. “Okay-- I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Dick sighed and hung up the phone. This was an absolute nightmare. Worse than a nightmare — he’d never had a nightmare as bad as  _ this.  _ How could this have slipped by them so easily?

The man was sick to his stomach. Bruce... he was a good father. Not always perfect, but — but he was  _ good.  _ He wasn’t an abuser, or a monster...

Dick remembered his first few nights in the manor. He was temperamental, difficult. He didn’t listen to Bruce or Alfred, he refused all their meals, he argued at every turn. He broke the  _ chandelier  _ for fuck’s sake. And Bruce... what did Bruce do?

He was patient. He  _ listened. _ He  _ understood.  _ Instead of trying to ’fix’ Dick,  _ he _ would adapt, and try to better  _ himself _ for Dick. Bruce — he never raised a hand against Dick, barely ever even raised his  _ voice. _

He knew things had changed after Jason’s death — of course he did. Bruce had grown far more jaded, callous.  _ Anybody _ could see that. Watching him with Tim, there wasn’t that same warmth as there was with Dick and Jason. There wasn’t an effortless flow between them like there was before. But still — Bruce had never  _ hit _ him. He could scream at Tim after the boy disobeyed an order, but that was always out of thinly veiled worry for Tim’s safety. So why...  _ why,  _ when Damian came along...?

His stomach twisted. Damian... he was a good kid. A great fucking kid. Sure, he could be headstrong, difficult, petulant, but he was just a kid. A kid who was too used to this shit in the hands of the League. Dick had heard a few — just a few — stories of the League, and it wasn’t easy to stomach. Though Damian seemed able to tell the stories as if they weren’t  _ horrifying,  _ Dick could hardly stand it. Too much hurt for a child. Too much  _ pain. _

And that’s why Dick would make promises. Promises he  _ thought  _ he could keep. Promises of safety, of happiness, that things would be okay from now on, from now until the end of forever. Damian would learn love, it’s all he’d ever feel. He’d forget what it was like to be lost. The Manor would be  _ home. _

How utterly fucking  _ wrong  _ he was.

That was it -- he couldn’t keep thinking. He was already close to throwing up. He wanted to be with Damian, but --

God, Damian didn’t want to be with  _ him. _

His hands shook slightly. Damian must hate him. He’d never forgive Dick -- oh  _ god. _

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and got into his car, head full of too many dark thoughts. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes that he quickly blinked away.

Alfred didn’t go into detail. Most likely on purpose. It was a blessing and a curse, as now he was left filling in the gaps himself. He tried to think of Damian’s wounds recently -- the broken leg, of course. What had Bruce done to him to break his fucking leg? Had he just grabbed it and snapped it? Had he done something during training? Training -- what was training even  _ like  _ for him? His burnt hand. Had Bruce  _ burned _ him?

He was so profoundly disturbed by that thought it nearly sent him spiralling. Literally -- he had to snap himself back to reality so he didn’t crash the fucking car. He wasn’t even sure where he was going, he just couldn’t be  _ there.  _ In that house that he always thought of as home, the house that Damian suffered under for so  _ long. _

Soon enough, he was parking in front of a familiar building. He wasn’t sure what made him choose this, but he was glad he did. When no one could calm him down, she always could.

  
  
  
  


Barbara Gordon hadn’t expected a visit from Dick, but he was always welcome, of course. Today was one of her lazy days, and Dick knew that. He always liked to come by and bother her when he could — sure, she’d feign annoyance, but both of them knew from the look in her eyes she was always happy to have him.

That’s why she wasn’t worried when she opened the door for him. That is -- until she saw his face.

Her relaxed demeanor evaporated immediately, back straightening as she sat up. He looked panicked, almost  _ crazed.  _ Obviously he was here for something important -- not even detective work, something  _ personal. _

“Babs, hey.” He breathed, walking inside and closing the door behind him. 

Barbara fixed her glasses and wheeled to his side. “Dick, what…?”

He threw himself on the couch, rubbing at his face. “I fucked up, Babs. I really fucked up.”

Barbara kept her mouth closed and waited for him to elaborate. Dick flung himself up into a sitting position, clutching onto the fabric of the couch. 

“Bruce is in jail.”

She widened her eyes. Of all the things she could imagine him saying, that was… not one of them.

“Why?” She leaned in and reached for his hand, squeezing it comfortingly. He didn’t react to the touch besides the slight twitch of his hand. “Is it… Batman-related?”

Dick barked out a humorless laugh that made her jump. “I  _ wish.” _

The following explanation shook her to her core. Part of it felt so unbelievable, the thought occurred to her that he was pulling a prank. But she dismissed it as quickly as it came — Dick would  _ never  _ joke about this.

Not when it came to Damian.

Barbara swallowed down the bile that clogged itself in her throat. 

She’d been to the manor, just a few weeks ago. Damian had seemed completely  _ fine.  _ Still acting like the annoying brat she knew him to be. She hadn’t the slightest idea that  _ anything  _ was wrong, besides the obvious wounds. But she thought— she thought they were just from patrolling. How…? How had this slipped under all of their radars? It didn’t surprise her that Damian hadn’t told anybody, but — had no one  _ seriously _ noticed anything?

She looked into Dick’s eyes, heart breaking as she saw all of the regret and pain swimming in those beautiful blue irises.

“Dick… this isn’t your fault.” She whispered. It was a useless platitude — Dick would never stop blaming himself for this. If she was in his position, she would too.  _ Anybody _ would.

Dick looked away. “Don’t do that. You know it is.”

“It’s  _ all _ of our faults.” She bit her lip. “You know, I… I did notice that he’d been getting hurt more on patrol. I should have… I should have known something was wrong.” She looked at her lap in shame.

Dick didn’t reply, but she could feel his eyes on her. She took a moment to compose herself before looking back up at him.

“But no matter how badly we fucked up —  _ Bruce  _ fucked up one hundred times worse.”

Dick’s eyes hardened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ll never forgive him.”

Barbara believed that wholeheartedly.

She didn’t have the closest relationship with Bruce, she didn’t really see him as a father figure or mentor. If anything, they were just coworkers. But even so — this news felt completely unfathomable. She’d known Dick since they were kids, and Bruce was  _ never  _ the type of father to hit his kids. Was he emotionally constipated and stupidly closed off? Sure, but he loved Dick — he loved them all so much. He took them to theme parks, drove them to and from school, helped them when they were hurt.

But all of that could be disregarded by the simple fact — he  _ was  _ an abuser. He’d put his hands on his child, he’d bruised him, broken his already fragile spirit. Barbara decided with conviction, it didn’t  _ matter  _ if Bruce was the best dad ever to Dick, or her perceptions of him. Bruce Wayne abused his son, and that was that.

And that was  _ inexcusable. _

It was unforgivable. It didn’t matter what happened next — whether Bruce felt regret or not, whether Damian forgave him or didn’t. The simple truth was, Bruce had crossed line after line, and he could never undo what he had done to Damian.

Poor Damian…

She quickly took off her glasses and swiped at her eyes, a fruitless attempt to hide the forming tears. “What’s going to happen to Damian?”

“I don’t know.” Dick admitted defeatedly. “I wanted him to stay with me while we got everything figured out, but I doubt he wants anything to do with me.”

Barbara frowned sadly. “Dick, you know that’s not true. Damian loves you.”

“He blames me for what happened, Babs — and honestly, he  _ should.  _ I’m a horrible brother.”

“He doesn’t blame you. He was just stressed out because of everything happening and took his anger out on you. You  _ know  _ how much he loves you.”

Dick shook his head stubbornly. “After this…? I’d be surprised if he ever wanted to see me again.”

Barbara bit her lip. Damian loved Dick, down to his very core. The entire family knew that. Everybody loved Dick, but  _ nobody _ loved Dick like Damian. 

But at the same time, she knew this was a difficult situation. And she didn’t blame Damian for being angry, just as she didn’t blame Dick for not knowing. Likely, Dick would still feel guilty, Damian would still be angry. This was just such a fucked up time for the both of them — they both needed time to recover.

“We’ll see what happens.” She eventually settled on. She couldn’t tell him everything would be okay between him and Damian right away. “But Damian loves you, Dick. You’re his brother.”

Dick grimaced, gritting his teeth together. He looked like he had more to say, but no words came out. Not wanting to push him, she reached forward and patted his knee comfortingly. 

He looked at her, the anger and betrayal etched into his face fading into something much more somber, eyes clouding with a sheen of tears. “He didn’t deserve that, Babs. He’s just a kid.”

Barbara nodded slowly. “I know. We’re going to help him, Dick. I promise.”

Dick looked away, swallowing audibly and shaking his head.

“How can I help him after I’ve hurt him so much?”

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @bratwonders


End file.
